Humanity
by Flaming-June
Summary: It's Winter for the rest of the world -- just not MI6. All original characters.


**Penname:** flaming_june

**Beta Reader:** finding beauty

**Author's Note:**  All of these are original characters, save M.  Character creations go to me, Crystal (finding beauty), Josh, Kassy, Tony, and Anna.  It was written for a Live Journal challenge under the community by_the_pen.  I didn't exactly follow the protocol, but I said that Linkin Park's "My December" was considered for inspiration. :o\

**Disclaimer:** Belongs to Ian Fleming.

**Humanity**

            I can recall the first time I saw snow in London.  I was young.  Barely 19, and still fresh from Downunder.  It was the first time I'd ever seen snow, falling like powder-tears from the dark, grey Heavens.  And all I could do was just watch as it started covering my hands hair.  Cold to the touch, I thought I'd stepped into another universe.  Everything was so much more innocent back then.  Eleven years changed a person's perspective.

            Gazing soberly at the Thames outside my window, I watched the familiar flakes beginning to gathering at the rim of the glass.  Another day – another winter.  I think I was starting to lose count … The sudden ringing from my office phone didn't startled me in the least, but it did pull me away from my moment of solitude.  Lifting the receiver to my ear I answer with a curt, "Carter."  My accent was obvious, as it wasn't British at all, but Australian.  Any American could figure that.

            "You're needed in the Situation Room, Double-Oh Five."

            "I'll be right there."  _Click_.  I was always needed in the Situation Room.  It was my duty to be needed in the Situation Room.  I was Alpha Leader, and my responsibility was to be in the Situation Room.  Unfazed, I reach for the manila folder sitting atop my desk and swiftly exit through my office door.  The Situation Room needed me.

            Entering the quiet confines of the all-too grey and steely meeting area, I offer a slight nod towards the aging woman standing at the head of the long table before taking a seat beside a dark-haired lad with a curious gaze.

            "You're late …" He whispered, shooting a smirk in my direction.  That was about when I smacked his arm with the back of my hand, giving the woman on his other side a quirk of a brow.  She gave him a good hit as well, her expression a silent scorn.

            The aging woman was still standing at the front of the room, waiting for the sextet to settle before speaking, "All right."  She began, "I assume you've all read through your files and familiarized yourselves with the prime directive."  She took our silence as a collective 'yes,' "Georges Hamlin.  Formerly Yego Proskiv.  Currently residing in Morocco, in strict control of its exotic imports and exports – amongst other things."  Pressing a button on a keypad beside her, she brings up a projector, "He owns seventy-three percent of all profits coming in and out of Morocco, including those brought in by the French enterprises.  He's listed as the seventh richest man in the world, and his intentions, I'm afraid, have become suspicious."  Pressing another button, she brings up a slideshow of laboratories and interesting looking beakers, "It's believed that he is creating bio-weapons for use against the United States government."

            _Goddamn, couldn't those pricks take care of themselves?_  My deep sigh is loud enough for M to stop her presentation and lock her cold gaze upon my exasperated visage, "Something you want to say, Double-Oh Five?"

            I try not to roll my eyes as I focus my attention on the blank cover of my documents, "United States government.  Why should we be involved?  The CIA can take care of themselves.  They have twice as many resources as we do, and just as much data."  The rest of the room remained silent, not wanting to disrupt me while I was ranting.  They rarely did interrupt – I could be a real bitch.

            "Because they asked."  M left it at that, bringing up the final slide on the LCD, "Georges has three advisors, one of them being his son, Thomas.  He's twenty-two, just out of Cambridge.  He is heavily guarded, often flanked by five to seven bodyguards, situated in specific locations, always within ten feet of his radius.  This should be simple – kill the advisors, kill Georges, destroy the lab."  Turning off the digital screen, she returned her attention to the six sitting before her in contemplative silence, "Double-Oh Five, Double-Oh Nine, and Double-Oh Six will work on killing the advisors and Hamlin.  Double-Oh Four, Double-Oh Three, and Double-Oh Eight will work search and destroy.  Everything must take place simultaneously, as Georges is throwing himself a Christmas celebration tomorrow in Paris at the Harbinger Convention Palace.  There will be a forty-five minute window in which Georges and his advisors will be making an appearance on the main floor.  This is also the time at which the lab is most vulnerable, as Georges will not be making full communication with the lab security for those forty-five minutes.  The rest of the mission profile should be fairly clear now that you've been briefed.  You're all dismissed."

             The only consolation in this mission was Paris.  Grabbing my folder, I head out the door, closely followed by a young Asian woman and a scruffy Briton.  Behind them are a lanky blond, the curious man, and his ball and chain.  Moments later, we're all in Q-Headquarters, soon splitting into our respective teams.

            "You don't suppose this mission'll be too difficult, eh?"  The scruffy Briton reached for a stray .45 sitting on the counter, observing it with expert flare, giving me a glance before flickering his gaze upon the Asian, "Shoot and run.  Simple."

            "Nothing's simple.  You should know that by now." Reaching out with a slender hand, Mia lowered the .45 from Michael's grasp, giving him a warning look, "Though it did seem a bit odd that the security should be so lax at the labs."

            Leaning against the cold metal surface, I fold my arms comfortably across my chest, glancing from the .45 to my partners, "It'll be quick.  Forty-five minutes is plenty of time.  As soon as it happens, we get out of there."  It was hard to believe that I was Team Leader, sometimes.  My wardrobe was intimidating enough: black skirt, black jacket, white button-up shirt, and a pair of black 2-inch heels, which made my already 5'9" frame seem towering compared to most women.  However, the simple bun my blond strands were slipped into made me look more like a school marm than a secret agent.

            "If you say so.  But Paris is so bloody busy this time of year … all those damn romanticists."  Picking up another weapon, Michael idly checked its gauge before placing it back on the counter, "Guess we'll fit right in, yeah, Love?"  He shot Mia one of his charming smiles, expecting a kiss in return, but only received a raised brow, and a look of skepticism.

            I was too busy lingering on my part of the mission to pay much attention to their Lover's banter.  I had to draw Georges away somehow.  Somehow I had to make him believe I had something he wanted – which I did.  Ah, Paris.  What a great city.  Made men horny.

            The slick black limo slowly pulled up to the stone stairway leading up to the entrance.  The lights were distracting, and I had a hard time focusing on my motive.  _I'm alone … I'm here to have a good time … I'm alone … I'm here to have a good time …_I keep repeating this in my head as I step out of the limo, being careful not to allow my skirt to catch against the door.  I look wonderful, as always.  Every detail perfected down to the horizontal neckline, baring my smooth, fair shoulders.  No man could resist me, because to them I was a Goddess worthy of every praise.  Entering the convention center, I put on a façade of loneliness, and availability, my blue eyes wide with innocence and vulnerability.  It's sickening how easily I could get into character.

            As I hand the doorman my false invitation, I hear a familiar voice clearly through my virtually invisible earpiece, "I can see you at the entrance."  It was Mia, "We're at the bar.  Hamlin's about to arrive in a minute … There he is."  Lifting my gaze, I search the main floor for whatever commotion could be detectable, "Two o'clock.  There's his son … and his other two advisors."  Moving away from the entrance, I touch my index finger and thumb together depressing a button hidden beneath my black lace glove.

            "I see them.  Let's move … Mia, take point.  Try to distract Charles.  Ethan, stay back.  Fire from a distance, if at all possible.  I'll take Hamlin."  This was it.  This was what I lived for; a place in time where I had to do something to save the world from destruction.  I scared myself some times, trying to think of all the missions I could've failed.  All the times the world could have ended, because I wasn't trying hard enough.  I always gave everything … tonight wouldn't be any different.  I am a smoldering seductress.

            Walking past the table Hamlin and his entourage were occupying, I make myself extremely noticeable.  I catch Hamlin staring at him from the farthest corner of my eye, and I slink through the crowd and towards the terrace.  He was mine.

            As I step out into the cold Paris night, I am thankful that there is a heater located to my left, or else I would've frozen my precious ass off.  Lingering at the railing, I gaze out at the Paris skyline, making myself look distant and aloof.  I am a desirable debutante.

            Feeling the presence of a man beside me, I try to ignore the gloved hand reaching out to take hold of my arm.  A smile forms upon my graceful lips as I lift my gaze to greet – someone else.  My smile fades, the ferocity leaving me.  I tell myself to pull away, but I can't.  Lips parting, all I can do is release a faint cloud of white breath.

            "Lara."  The man's face is tired from years of struggle and sacrifice.  His eyes blue and clear against a frame of brown hair.  He is like me … not visibly, but in a more complicated manner.  Although one could not detect a French accent from the two syllables he had just uttered, he had one.  I knew, and that's all that mattered.

            A shoot a quick glance towards the party still bustling inside the convention center, I begin to panic.  I haven't panicked in seven years, "Please … let me go."  My voice is desperate, but quiet.  I start to pull away, but he only holds tighter, drawing me back against the railing, "Michael, stop."  My tone becomes firm as I quickly become impatient with the situation.

            "You can't kill him."  I snap my gaze upwards to regard his solemn features, the hot tears gathering at the corners of my eyes.  The heat is rising to my face as I try to repress the tightness choking at my throat, "Sh … Lara."  He pulled me into a numb embrace, his hands brushing against my bare skin.  My eyes close, and the tears fall, unconsciously, "Not tonight.  Hamlin has to stay.  Trust me."  My shaky hands rise to pull myself into his warm body, reveling in his radiance.

            My voice muffled, I finally manage to whisper, "You don't deserve me.  You don't deserve anything … I sacrificed everything."  I can feel his arms becoming tighter – a man grasping at an invisible statue, "I killed you.  I had to.  You can't do this to me."

            "_Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur …je t'aime encore …_" His words don't comfort me as my heart begins to beat at an incredibly fast rate.  This is stressing me out, "Stay with me … don't leave.  Just stay out here with me while Hamlin leaves."

            Pulling back, I raise my eyes to meet his once more, my tear-stained cheeks shining against the winter moon.  Tugging loose a hand from my glove I raise a cool hand to gently push back the dark strands hanging alongside his face.  Feeling his warmth floating off the surface of his skin, I lean forward to place a fervid kiss upon his welcoming mouth.

            For a moment we're one soul – that one soul that Aristotle always preaches about.  I can feel his hearting beating against my chest, his breaths pressing against my torso.  For a moment we're what we once more.

            And with a single shot, I destroy that moment.  I feel his arms become limp, and his breath slowly leaving him.  The life departs, as his body slumps and I gently lower him into the floor of the terrace.  No one can see what I've done.  They are too busy having the times of their life, while I stand there taking my own.

            The tears fall in greater streams, though the heat has left my face.  Gazing down at Michael's slumbering face, I touch his features once more, knowing he would never awaken to stop me again.  The blood has stained my dress.  I have to work fast.

            Quickly rising, I bare the gun for all the world to see, rushing into the convention center.  Michael couldn't stop me from reaching this point; I made sure of that.  Mia and Ethan are in the process of killing the two advisors and Hamlin's son.  Raising my gun amidst a flurry of frightened screams and chaos, I fire a second bullet, killing Georges.  Watching him fall, I cannot help but think I've lost my humanity somehow.  When did that happen?

_What is a friend? A **single soul** dwelling in two bodies. -- _Aristotle


End file.
